Those Who Suffer Together
by Penn Flinn
Summary: If they can make it through the night, they know things will be okay. In the aftermath of the Chitauri attack, the Avengers return to Stark Tower to lick their wounds and find comfort in each other. One-shot, open ships, team as a family.


**Hello, friends. This is my first fic in the Marvel universe, and I am so excited to be further involved in this fandom. This started out as a request for Clint/Natasha fluff, which I had so much fun with, but it developed further into this series of vignettes about what happened after the attack in **_**Avengers**_**. I owe a lot of inspiration for this to Supernoodle's fic "After Shawarma," which you should totally check out. Ships are open to interpretation, but the main focus is the Avengers functioning as a family. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or the Avengers. Please forgive any canonical mistakes, as I'm still learning!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

If this was what being world-famous felt like, Tony mused, he didn't much care for it.

Sure, he was famous before this whole interplanetary war incident, but being in a specialized super-human taskforce and saving all of New York City was enough to kick it up a notch. They were fine all the way to the shawarma joint—which, Tony had to admit, didn't sound quite as appealing now that he was up and moving and aching everywhere—and they were relatively undisturbed their entire meal. Just as they were finishing, however, the first camera flash blinded them.

"Oh, hell," he muttered. He set down his food and brushed off his hands. He was the fastest to react, most accustomed to this sort of thing, and he stood before the others had even registered what was happening. He looked them over, took in their exhausted and confused faces. "Come on, let's get out of here. Back to my place."

A few more flashes lit up the restaurant, and Tony glanced outside. Why were there even paparazzi here? Shouldn't the city still be recovering and, you know, _not_ pestering beat-up and half-dead superhumans? The last thing they needed was the crush of human hands and voices that made up a paparazzi; no, Bruce had dark circles under his eyes, Steve looked barely cognizant, and Tony himself wasn't feeling particularly receptive after having his heart restarted. The entire team was at their lowest, and that was not something the world needed to see.

"Thor?" he said. "A little help here?" He nodded at the crowd.

The god caught on fast and broke into a jovial smile. "People of Earth!" he bellowed, striding out the door as Tony and Natasha helped Steve to his feet. "Thank you for your unyielding bravery in this time of crisis! I believe we shall meet again very soon!"

He continued clearing a path through the crowd, and the rest of the team followed behind more quietly. Tony stopped at the door of the restaurant.

"Thanks," he said to the woman sweeping in the back, slapping three hundred dollar bills on the nearest table.

Thanks to Thor's enthusiastic leadership, they were able to squeeze their way through the growing number of people that were pulling out phones and shouting questions. With the exception of Thor, they kept their heads down. Tony and Natasha kept on either side of Steve, who kept muttering, "I'm fine, I'm fine."

At last, after what felt like a lifetime, they reached Stark Tower. As the group headed wearily through the front doors, Tony turned to address the straggling civilians who were still eager to snap a photo.

"You can be assured we'll be giving a full press conference once some of this damage has been cleared," he said. "But I ask, right now, respect our right to privacy." He looked each one of them in the eye as he spoke. "I speak for the team when I say thank you to those who assisted in this fight, and those who are now heading the recovery projects. Now, please, go be with your families. God knows it's what the rest of us are doing."

Then he turned on his heel and the doors slid shut behind him.

* * *

The others were already sprawled around the apartment by the time Tony made it upstairs. Clint was sitting with his back to the far window, bow at his feet. Bruce and Thor were sitting on opposite ends of one couch, while Steve was sprawled across the other with one arm flung over his eyes. Natasha, on the other hand, was restless, pacing back and forth across the room like a lioness.

Everyone but Steve looked up as Tony entered. "Everything alright down there?" Bruce asked.

"As alright as it can be at the moment," Tony responded. He nodded to Steve. "He alright?"

"Old man's up past his bedtime," Clint said smugly. "Out cold as soon as he hit the couch."

"He'll be fine," Bruce reassured Tony. "He took some hard hits today. Not unlike yourself," he added pointedly.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you all about," Tony said. "You know, this whole team thing—it's not normally my style." He glared at Natasha as she scoffed. "_Normally_. However, we were _all_ hit hard today, and if there's one thing I know about people, it's that those who suffer together come together." He paused. "I think this could work. This Avengers thing. I owe you all my life." He looked around at their expressions, and suddenly he was struck by how attached he felt to each and every one of them. He knew he was supposed to hate feeling this way, but, in the end, he knew he couldn't. Still, for the show, he frowned. "Now get some goddamn rest."

* * *

Midnight. Someone had turned on the large TV on the wall, and it was playing some game show on low volume. Bruce and Thor were the only ones watching, Bruce with half-lidded eyes and Thor with rapt attention. Every twenty minutes or so, like clockwork, Thor would comment loudly or chuckle; and, like clockwork, Bruce would sit up with a jolt and rub his hand over his face, then gradually slip back into half-awareness.

Natasha and Clint watched this from their corner of the room where they sat, shoulder to shoulder, on the floor. Natasha nudged Clint's leg, catching the glint in Thor's eyes the moment before the outburst arrived.

"Success, mortal!" he bellowed with a grin. His eyes never wavered from the television screen, where one of the contestants was being handed an oversized check. "Your kin shall sing your praises for many generations."

"We may have created a monster," Natasha muttered.

"Wait until we get him started on _The Bachelor_," Clint said in return.

Natasha couldn't suppress the smile that bloomed across her face. Together the two of them silently watched Bruce's eyelids droop.

Suddenly, Clint burst into a fit of-dare Natasha call it-giggles. The suddenness of the laughter made Natasha jump, and she looked over to find Clint burying his head in his knees to stifle the sound.

"What?" she asked. When she got no response, she nudged him. "What's so funny?"

Clint brought his head up. It had been a long time, Natasha thought, since she'd seen her partner smile quite like that.

"Budapest," he managed to eke out. His shoulders shook a few more times.

Natasha scrunched up her face in confusion. "What about it?"

Clint looked her dead in the eye, and she couldn't help but smile. His mirth was contagious. "Down there," he began, "when we were fighting. 'You and I remember Budapest very differently.'"

He wiped his eyes, and Natasha finally broke. "It was a good line," she said. This made Clint laugh even harder, and now, with all of the adrenaline gone from her body, with Thor invested in game shows and the apartment reeking of shawarma, Natasha felt the tremors unwittingly take over her body.

The two of them dissolved, giggling until they had tears streaming down their faces, tucked up against each other in the moonlight.

* * *

Turned out dying and having your heart restarted was not _ideal_ for one's overall health. Shortly after kissing Pepper goodnight, Tony found himself sprinting to the bathroom and emptying half-digested shawarma into the toilet. He gagged a few more times, then closed his eyes and steadied himself with a few deep breaths. When he stood, his head throbbed.

"Jarvis?" he said wearily.

"A glass of water would not go amiss," said the AI, almost apologetically. "You are extremely dehydrated, and your systems are somewhat...compromised."

"You make a great mother," Tony grumbled.

"I am doing my best, sir," Jarvis responded.

With one glance in the mirror-_yikes_-Tony exited the bathroom and made his way to the bar. Surprisingly, Bruce and Thor were already there, gazing like angsty teenagers into the open fridge.

"Don't give me that 'there's nothing to eat' face," Tony said as he grabbed a glass from under the counter. He felt their eyes on his back the whole time he filled the glass with tap water, but he kept his own attention fixedly forward. The television had reverted to infomercials: probably the only channel in the city that wasn't playing footage from the attack. He squinted at the clock. 3 am.

"You alright, Tony?" Bruce said behind him. "You know, you're lucky to be standing here. If I could maybe run some checks on you-"

"Not necessary." Tony downed the glass of water in one fluid motion and instantly regretted it. His stomach protested violently, but he kept a straight face. "Who you should be checking out is Cap. Has he moved since we got back?"

Bruce looked guiltily over at the prone Captain on the couch. "Not an inch. I think the best thing for him right now is rest. If he hasn't moved in another hour, I'll wake him. You, on the other hand-"

Tony again waved him off, and he thankfully fell silent. "So, big guy, is there something you were looking for?"

Thor was still in the no-man's land between the bar and the fridge, one hand still on the fridge door. He looked back and forth between Bruce and Tony for a few seconds, clearly assessing the tension. Then he broke into a grin. "Some of your finest ale for this victory!"

"Jesus, Thor, it's three in the morning," Tony said. The god only looked at him quizzically. He stared back. Blinked. "There's beer in the back."

"I'll take one too, thanks." Bruce moved close to accept the Bud Light from Thor. Before Tony could even think about reaching for a bottle opener, the god smashed the top of the bottle off on the counter, spraying beer over the floor and across Tony's face.

"To victory and good health!" he said, and drank the entire bottle like it was water.

Tony wiped some of the sticky liquid from his face. "Yeah," he grunted, "and in that order."

* * *

He was drowning. He was cold. The ache deep inside him was more than physical; he groaned as the pain was aggravated by his body rocking side to side.

"Cap...Steve?"

"...alright?"

"If I didn't know better I'd say he was on ice again-ow, Natasha, what was that for?"

_On ice_.

There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him and sending shooting pains across his chest with every movement.

_Ice._

As with most things in Steve's life, change came rapidly.

He was awake in an instant and his eyes snapped open. On instinct, some animal response to the confusion and the panic that was inexplicably coursing through his body, he threw out his fist. It connected with flesh and was followed by a sudden clamor. Immediately after, Steve's chest and side blazed with fresh pain, his muscles raging with stiffness, and instead of launching from the couch like he'd intended he found himself falling sideways off of it.

As he gasped for air, soaking in the cool floor on his hands and knees, a hand was placed gently on his shoulder.

"Steve."

The world spun into dizzying focus, and he was back in Stark Tower, and reality wove itself back into a recognizable pattern. Steve sucked in another huge breath and rested his forehead on the floor while the hand retreated.

"You're okay, Steve. You're safe."

"Good to know you're well enough to pack a hell of a punch," said another distant voice from across the room.

Finally Steve dragged his head up. At the far end of the apartment, Bruce was picking himself up gingerly from the floor and touching what looked to be the beginnings of a black eye.

"Sorry," Steve mumbled. Fighting through the black spots at the edges of his vision, he pushed himself into a sitting position against the couch.

"No harm, no foul," Bruce said with a wan smile. "At least it wasn't Thor. No offense, but he's a tad stronger than you."

"We would have let you sleep," Tony said, "but, frankly, you haven't moved in, like, seven hours. Plus, we kind of realized that you're bleeding all over my couch. Bloodstains: not great for business."

"Sorry," Steve slurred again. His head suddenly felt very heavy and thick, like it was packed with lead. He vaguely registered Bruce kneeling in front of him, and Natasha falling to a crouch at his other side.

"You've lost a lot of blood from that injury," Bruce said, prodding gently at Steve's chest. Steve hissed in pain and recoiled, and Bruce smiled apologetically. "I guess none of us realized how bad it was."

"Not like you said anything to let us know," Clint added grumpily.

Bruce ignored the archer, instead moving to examine a wound on Steve's hairline. "Some broken ribs to boot, I think. Nothing your body can't handle." He squinted up at Steve. "I'd like to patch you up a little, if that's okay."

"Thanks," the Captain said. He blinked up at the rest of the team, all huddled around the couch. "What time is it?"

"2012," said Tony jokingly.

Steve grimaced and brushed off the twinge of fear in his chest. "Real funny," he said.

"It's almost five in the morning," Natasha said from beside him. She stifled a yawn.

"You all should get to sleep," he said. Now that he was more aware, he realized that the apartment was beginning to fill with dawn light. Judging by the looks on everyone's faces, they hadn't slept a wink. Unlike him.

Hardly a beat went by before Clint piped up. "You're about to get shirtless, Cap. I don't think any of us are going anywhere."

"Also," Tony added, with a sidelong glance at the archer, "you missed my whole spiel about being family earlier. Shame. It was a great speech. Touching." He paused as Steve let out a groan at Bruce's prodding. "Point is, I think we're all in this, for better or for worse. For tonight, at least. Until the damage is cleared."

At Steve's side, Natasha threaded her fingers between his own. "I think we can stay awake a bit longer."

Quiet reigned for a moment, and the television flickered dizzyingly behind Bruce's head.

From just behind the couch, Thor made a grunt of confusion. "What is this 'Wheel of Fortune'? Why have the Asgardians not heard of this object of myth?"

Steve didn't know where it originated, but gradually a ripple of laughter surged through the group. Just like that, like the settling of wood after a frost, everyone breathed. As Steve leaned back against the couch, he felt the rest of the team finding their own places behind him and beside him, perched on the sofa and sprawled on the floor. Somewhere, someone turned up the volume on the television.

Dawn broke over a healing New York, and the Avengers healed too-sitting on Tony's leather couch, exhausted and still hurting but nevertheless content, until morning pulled them one by one to sleep.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! The summer has been crazy busy, so I've been working rather slowly on fanfiction projects, but I'm always open to requests! As usual, please drop me a review to let me know what you think—I really love hearing from you all.**

**Thanks, and till next time,**

**Penn**


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